That Time of Year

About this time every year hundreds of thousands of people go on the hunt for the best looking Christmas tree they can find.  Whether they are at a tree farm with standing trees or a pre-cut tree sale location, there is something in the hunter that compels them to check out every available tree.  If the trees are not cut, they walk up and down the rows, in and around the individual trees, and once they find "it," they cut it down, hoist it onto the car or into the bed of the truck, and off they go.  If they are like my family and are at a pre-cut tree yard, every tree must be made to stand straight, given a good shake to get off all the snow, the branches fluffed, twisted and turned in every direction, and finally a decision can be made.  And, no matter the location, before driving off dad digs into his wallet and whips out a nice looking green bill or two.    

Today was the first day I've ever erected my own Christmas tree.  Though a bit odd being all by myself, it was a fun experience nonetheless, and had little resemblance to the experience of the majority of America.  Rather than driving, I snowshoed.  Rather than going to a tree farm or sale location, I walked into the woods across the willow marsh.  Rather than walking up and down rows, I walked up and down moose tracks.  Rather than shaking every available tree free of its snow, I dug down into the snow in order to reveal a tree.  Rather than picking out the perfect tree, I found one that had some character.  While sawing I watched my back for moose wandering around me in the forests.  Rather than heaving it onto a car, I carried it in my left hand and my saw in my right hand, and tried desperately not to trip on a willow branch on my way back across the field.  I made it.  

I felt incredibly victorious.  And it was free.

  

Character is what counts, right?

The final product.  It serves me well!